Tomorrow
by chocolaterose093
Summary: Lassiter knew he'd regret this. Not only would it make it so much harder to leave Santa Barbara, but he would forever hate himself for using Shawn like this, and then leaving without saying goodbye. Shassie slash


_**Hello again! I was really encouraged by the several notifications I got for "You Called Me Detective", so I decided to write another story for the Psych fandom! This one is a bit more wordy and emotional than my first one, but the idea has been invading my thoughts for more than a week and I just had to set it free. Hope you like! Reviews and concrit are welcome, as always!**_

**Summary: **_Lassiter knew he'd regret this. Not only would it make it so much harder to leave Santa Barbara, but he would forever hate himself for using Shawn like this, and then leaving without saying goodbye. Shassie slash_

**Warnings:** _Angst. Slash. Mentions of abuse. Not-too-severe Shawn whump. Also, some slight language. Rated T to be safe._

**Disclaimer:** _**I do not own Psych, or the song "Tomorrow" by Chris Young, though I love them both immensely.**_

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**TOMORROW**

**~·~****·~****·~****·~**

_Tomorrow_

_I'm gonna leave here_

_I'm gonna let you go and walk away_

_Like every day I said I would_

Detective Carlton Lassiter stared at the yellow Transfer Request Approval notice in his hands, hardly believing it was real. It had worked. His request had been granted - Chief Vic's signature, written neatly on the dotted line at the bottom of the paper, proved it. But he still couldn't believe it.

A mixture of relief, shock, and faint sadness washed over the Head Detective - well, former Head Detective now - as the realization that he was _leaving_ Santa Barbara finally sank in, and he didn't understand why. After all, he was the one who had wanted to leave in the first place, and had left a Transfer Request form on the Chief's desk earlier that week. He'd asked to leave, and he'd gotten what he wanted. He should feel satisfied, happy even. So why didn't he?

Maybe it was because of the reason he wanted to leave - _had_ to leave. He'd checked the box that had said "Inability to cooperate with a colleague/colleagues" in the _Cause for Transfer_ section of the form, but that didn't even say half of it. He'd thought about checking the "Other" box and explaining on the three lines below it, but he knew there was no way he'd be able to sum it up on just those three lines. What he'd done and how he felt would take several sheets of handwritten paragraphs to fully explain.

Lassiter sighed and set the paper down on his desk in front of him, pinning it under his elbows as he ran his shaking fingers through his dark hair. He couldn't even think about it; the shame was too great. But he couldn't help but be reminded of it every time he'd taken a walk through the station that week and looked around. It wasn't what he'd seen that had brought on the immense guilt, it was what he hadn't seen - _who_ he hadn't seen.

Shawn.

Lassiter had been attracted to the brown-haired "psychic" since the moment he'd first set eyes on him. However, this attraction was not only unexpected, but a bit frightening, and he'd covered it up by hassling the younger man and pretending to hate him. This had gone on for a couple of years, and it had worked - no one suspected the detective even _liked_ Shawn, much less loved him.

Then Shawn had had another one of his infamous close calls, and had barely managed to escape without getting killed. This had happened several times before, and each one had worn Lassiter's defenses down a little more. This one had been the final straw. After the paramedics had looked the psychic over and deemed him fine, Lassiter had pulled him aside and, without a word, simply pressed his lips to the shorter man's and hoped he wouldn't get slapped.

But Shawn had kissed him back, and that had been the start of the best relationship either of them had ever been in.

They managed to hide it from their colleagues pretty well, although Shawn had insisted Guster know. Still, around the station Lassiter kept up his "Dammit, Spencer, you stay off this case or I won't hesitate to shoot you" routine and Shawn just acted how he usually did, ignoring the Head Detective's explicit orders and calling him ridiculous things like "Lassieface" and "Lassiefrass". But at the end of the day, they would retreat to Lassiter's office together without anyone noticing and make out like a pair of teenagers, shameless and urgent. Shawn had moved into Lassiter's apartment after the first few weeks. Things had been going great.

Then they'd had their first fight.

Insults had been exchanged in loud, vehement voices. Many things had gone flying, including fists. One of them had connected with Shawn's face, leaving an ugly red splotch underneath his left eye. The psychic had gone to a cheap motel afterwards.

Lassiter cringed at the memory.

But the next day, Shawn had still come to Lassiter's office before the detective went home. The bruise had been masterfully hidden with a layer of makeup, making it difficult for the untrained eye to see. But Lassiter had seen it, and the guilt had wracked him so intensely that he'd almost burst out sobbing then and there.

To his complete surprise, however, Shawn had walked over to him and, in an amazingly compassionate act, captured the older man's lips with his own, telling him he was forgiven. They'd gone back to Lassiter's apartment together that night, and Shawn had stayed.

They'd had several other fights after that, and in almost every one Lassiter ended up physically hurting Shawn in some way, whether it be punching him or twisting his wrist so hard the tendons snapped or smashing his head against a wall.

And every time, Shawn would forgive him with a kiss or a squeeze of his hand, and they would make up without hardly any words being spoken.

That hadn't been the case last Saturday, though. They'd had a particularly nasty disagreement, and Lassiter had hit him. Again.

But this time had been different - not only had Shawn gathered up all his stuff and gone to Henry's instead of a motel, but he hadn't called to forgive Lassiter - in fact, he hadn't come to the station at all this week. At first the detective had thought he was somewhere with Guster, but then he'd remembered the pharmacist was off on some convention for the week. Shawn would never go to one of those.

That was when Lassiter had realized he'd finally pushed Shawn permanently away, and he knew he couldn't bear to stay at the SBPD station if his lover - his _world_ - wasn't there. There would be no more motivation, no more drive, no more desire to do anything if Shawn wasn't there to encourage and congratulate him with a hug and a quick peck on the lips in his office. So, he'd filled out the Transfer Request form and left it on Chief Vick's desk. That had been four days ago.

_Tomorrow_

_I'm gonna listen_

_To that voice of reason inside my head_

_Telling me that we're no good_

He'd known the would be granted. Although he was supposedly "one of Santa Barbara's finest", the Chief respected Lassiter and his decisions, and the detective had been sure that she would respect this one. So in those four days, he'd managed to pack up his belongings into twenty-one large cardboard boxes. He had a friend with a trailer that would help him with the furniture, and he'd called the guy the moment he'd seen the folded up approval form on his desk. They'd made plans to leave for Sacramento at 6 a.m. the next morning (he'd asked on the form that he be transferred to the Sacramento Police Department, deciding it was far enough away that he wouldn't be tempted to occasionally drive back down to Santa Barbara to reminisce and re-live painful memories. Luckily, they'd been in need of a new detective).

No one at the station besides Chief Vick even knew Lassiter was leaving - not even O'Hara, though Lassiter had been dropping hints to his young partner all week. He'd told her what a great detective she was and how he knew she'd be able to manage without him, should he ever have to leave. He'd also told her he was proud of her, which had earned him a shocked look and a slightly shaky "Thank you". He'd told her the truth, and thankfully she'd believed him. He would miss her, he thought with a sad smile, but he really did believe she would be fine on her own.

Just then, Lassiter realized he'd been sitting at his desk in the dimly-lit office with his head in his hands for close to an hour - _Thank goodness the door's closed_ - and he looked up at the clock on the far wall. Wincing at the ache in his neck, he noticed it was almost 8 p.m. Time to leave the station for the last time.

The former Head Detective picked up his briefcase and stood up from the chair, looking around the empty office - he'd had it discreetly cleaned out yesterday. He then walked out the door and slowly closed it behind him. He noticed vaguely that the small plaque with his name on it was still on the door, so he carefully took it down and tucked it in his briefcase before walking down the main hallway towards the Chief's office.

Lassiter looked around the station. Most of the others from the day shift had gone home and had been replaced by the night cops and detectives, and he felt another pang of sadness. He'd wanted to see O'Hara one last time.

Chief Vick was still there, though, finishing up some last-minute paperwork. Lassiter walked into her office and, somewhat hesitantly, took his badge out of his pocket and set it down on her desk.

She looked up at the badge, then met his eyes. Smiling sadly, she stood up and offered him her hand. He took it, shaking it warmly.

"You will be missed, Detective Lassiter," Vick said somewhat quietly.

"Thank you, Chief," Lassiter replied, letting go of her hand. After a moment, he added, "Could you apologize to O'Hara for me tomorrow? Say I'm sorry for not telling her."

"Sure," Vick replied. She smiled at him one last time. "Good luck, Detective."

"Thank you," Lassiter said again. With a small smile, he turned around and walked out of the office, heading for the doors.

He got in his car and looked up at the station for the last time, memorizing the colors of the bricks and the sight of the archways lit up by the ground lights in the darkness. It truly was an eerie, yet beautiful sight.

Lassiter looked away after a few seconds, and finally drove off.

**~·~****·~****·~****·~**

The apartment was dark, but Lassiter could still see the twenty-one boxes piled up in the middle of the living room. Even now, staring at them from the doorway, he still couldn't believe he was actually leaving.

But he had to. He knew Shawn would eventually forgive him, whether it took him days or years, but he couldn't stand to be in a relationship with the psychic any longer. He loved Shawn, more than words could express, but no matter how hard he tried to keep himself from hurting him, he always ended up doing it anyway. The guilt and regret had become too strong, and he'd finally realized that he couldn't live with it anymore. He just couldn't.

He also realized he couldn't leave without seeing the younger man one more time.

Lassiter tried to fight the urge, knowing it could end badly. What if Henry was home? What if Shawn wasn't? What if he was, but didn't want anything to do with his former lover? There were so many things that could go wrong.

He had to take that chance, though. As long as he saw Shawn's face, whether it be right in front of his own or through a darkened window, it would be worth it.

Realizing he hadn't even set foot into his apartment, Lassiter quickly tossed his briefcase onto the couch just inside the door and hurried back outside to his car.

**~·~****·~****·~****·~**

There was light coming from the living room window of Henry Spencer's house. Lassiter pulled up slowly, turning off his headlights, and looked at the driveway. The beat-up old truck was absent, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The retired cop wasn't home.

Lassiter parked on the opposite side of the street, then hesitated. There was still a chance - an almost certain chance - that Shawn would send him away, or see him at the door and refuse to open it.

He ignored the fear and doubt, though, and boldly got out of the car.

He made his way through the darkness to the front porch of the house, and knocked three times on the red door.

Ten seconds later, Shawn Spencer opened it.

Lassiter's heart was pounding in his chest so hard he was almost certain it was audible. He studied the brunette's face - the most recent bruise was on the right side of his forehead, and the detective couldn't help but stare. It was big and purple and ugly, and hadn't been covered with makeup, suggesting that Shawn hadn't left the house in a few days. A few other clues were his mussed and tangled hair, the circles under his eyes, and the raggedy T-shirt and sweats that he looked like he'd been wearing for three days straight.

He looked horrible, but Lassiter thought he'd never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

Love, concern, guilt, shame - all these emotions cascaded over him as he stared at the exhausted man in the doorway. It was then that he noticed Shawn was staring into his piercing blue eyes with his own slightly cloudy hazel ones, no doubt waiting for the taller man to say or do something, anything.

Lassiter, not liking what his heart was telling him to do, hesitated. But five more seconds of staring at Shawn had him thinking to himself _Screw you, rational thought_ and he lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Shawn and kissing him urgently.

_But tonight I'm gonna give in one last time_

_Rock you strong in these arms of mine_

_Forget all the regrets that are bound to follow_

It took a moment for the psychic to respond, but when he did it was with the same fervor and energy, and he kissed Lassiter back with everything he had. He dragged Lassiter through the doorway and the older man closed it by shoving him up against it, never once disconnecting their mouths.

The two men stayed there for almost five minutes, just kissing like their lives depended on it, before they finally broke apart completely and caught their breath. Shawn tasted of mint, despite looking like he hadn't brushed his teeth in ages, and smelled surprisingly like cinnamon and fireplace - sure enough, Lassiter could hear the crackle of burning wood coming from the living room. He only lingered on that for a moment, though, and simply stared at the younger man, marveling at how warm he was in his arms, and how lucky he was to have had someone as forgiving and merciful and gorgeous and damn _wonderful_ as Shawn Spencer.

"Shawn…" he whispered, the guilt revealed in his husky voice. He knew there was no way he could truly apologize for what he'd done, but he tried anyway as best he could. "I'm so…I'm _so_ sor-"

But Shawn cut him off. "It's alright, Lassie," he murmured, resting a hand gently on the side of Lassiter's face. "I forgi-"

"No!" Now it was Lassiter's turn to stop the psychic mid-sentence. He toned his voice down slightly and took the hand off of his face, holding it tightly in his own. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I was a bastard, in every sense of the word, and we both know that. Just…" He sighed, trying to find the right words. "Just let me have you tonight…" _One last time._

Shawn looked into the detective's eyes again, and instead of giving a smart response he simply obeyed, pressing his mouth against Lassiter's and slinging his arms around the older man's neck, inviting him to do whatever he wanted.

_We're like fire and gasoline_

_I'm no good for you, you're no good for me_

_We only bring each other tears and sorrow_

Lassiter knew he'd regret this in the morning. Not only would it make it so much harder to leave Santa Barbara, but he would forever hate himself for using Shawn like this, and then leaving without saying goodbye.

They really didn't deserve each other. Shawn was an amazing person - funny, intelligent, caring, gracious - and he'd been paired with the withdrawn, bitter, and selfish Carlton Lassiter. All they did was cause each other pain.

Lassiter realized he really shouldn't be kissing Shawn the way he was, touching him where he was, making him make those delicious little sounds. He shouldn't be practically throwing him onto the guest room bed and ripping off his clothes. He shouldn't be letting Shawn do the same things to him. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

_But tonight_

_I'm gonna love you like there's no tomorrow_

But, he figured, if it was only for tonight…what the hell?

Lassiter reluctantly removed his mouth from Shawn's in order to place small kisses on his face, hesitating at the bruise on his forehead. He slowly lowered his mouth to it and placed the gentlest kiss he could manage on it, trying to show just how sorry he was for inflicting it. When he looked down into Shawn's eyes, he saw nothing but adoration and mercy in them, and he knew then that he'd been forgiven again. He didn't deserve it, he really didn't, but he would take it if it was offered.

When he was done with Shawn's face, Lassiter then moved on to ravishing the sweat-slicked skin of the younger man's heaving chest. He ran his hands lightly over it and placed feather-light kisses on every inch of it. Shawn gasped and arched up into the touch, tangling his fingers in Lassiter's dark hair, encouraging the detective to continue.

And he did. He kissed down past the psychic's bellybutton, then right over the waistband of his boxers…then lower. He looked up at Shawn to ask permission, but when he saw the younger man's eyes were closed and his face was twisted in pure ecstasy, he figured it would be cruel to wait any longer. So he got rid of the pesky undergarments, and went all the way.

When they were finished and both of them were spent, covered in sweat and breathing hard, they collapsed on top of each other in an exhausted heap.

"Lassie…" Shawn panted underneath him, his face flushed. "Carlton…I love you…"

Lassiter couldn't say it back. He loved Shawn with every fiber of his being, every beat of his heart, every breath he took, but he just couldn't say it back. If he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to leave. So instead he kissed the brunette harder and longer than he ever had before, hoping he would be able to convey how he felt without actually saying the words.

Shawn responded with a contented sigh, and that was all the reassurance he needed.

Wrapping Shawn in his arms and pulling the thin sheets over them, Lassiter pressed one last kiss into the younger man's damp hair and laid his head down on a pillow. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand - it was only 12:30. That gave him about five more hours with his lover. He decided to savor them as best as he could, and held Shawn close to his chest, not wanting to ever let go but knowing it was for the best that he eventually did.

Lassiter closed his eyes and, after listening to Shawn's slow, even breathing for a minute or so, finally allowed himself to sleep.

**~·~****·~****·~****·~**

Lassiter awoke at 5:03 a.m. precisely. He opened his eyes to find himself in a bed with Shawn, holding him against his bare chest. He remembered the events of last night in a sudden blur of color and sound, and immediately shame and regret washed over him like he'd known they would. He'd used Shawn, and now he would have to leave him forever. Without saying goodbye.

_Baby when we're good, you know we're great_

_But there's too much bad for us to think_

_That there's anything worth trying to save_

He reminded himself that would be better for both of them if he left. It would save Shawn the physical pain, and himself the emotional. It had to be done; there was no getting around it. Besides, the Sacramento Police Department were expecting him this afternoon.

Lassiter loved Shawn, and he knew Shawn loved him just as much. They had had such a good thing going before their first fight. But the pleasure just wasn't worth the pain that accompanied it. At first it had been, but as much as Lassiter hated to admit it, it just wasn't anymore.

With that thought in mind, Lassiter slowly hauled his heavy body and even heavier heart out of bed, being desperately careful not to wake the still-sleeping Shawn. The detective quickly got dressed, making a mental note to take a short shower when he got back to his apartment.

When his clothes were back on and he was ready to walk out of the room - and at the same time out of Shawn's life - he turned around and stole one last look at the young brunette. He had a very content expression on his face, complete with a small smile, and his hair was mussed in a way that made Lassiter want to run his fingers through it. The ugly bruise on his forehead even looked like it had shrunk slightly. The detective still cringed at the sight of it, though.

He would miss Shawn. He would miss that winning smile, those hazel eyes, that irresistible hair. He would miss his "psychic visions" and his obsession with pineapples. He would miss being called "Lassie" and the several other variations of the nickname. He would miss Shawn's voice, his laugh, his beauty, his heart.

He would miss Shawn's love.

But Lassiter was confident that the psychic would find someone else, someone much more suitable for him, that he would be able to give that love to. And he hoped that person would treat Shawn better than he had, because that's what Shawn deserved.

"Goodbye, Shawn."

After staring at the sleeping brunette for what seemed like hours, Lassiter finally worked up the nerve to turn around and leave the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Thankfully, Henry still wasn't back from wherever he'd gone off to last night, so Lassiter was able to leave the house without disturbing anything or anyone, leaving nothing but fingerprints and a soon-to-be-heartbroken Shawn Spencer upstairs as evidence that he was ever here. He left quietly through the front door and walked across the street to his car, sliding into the driver's seat.

It was only then that he allowed himself to cry.

**~·~****·~****·~****·~**

When he got back to his apartment, Lassiter went right to work. He took a six-minute shower, changed into an old T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and got the twenty-one large cardboard boxes arranged in his living room, ready for transport. He made sure he had everything together, then sat down heavily on his couch and stared blankly at the wall until his friend arrived with a truck and a trailer at 6 a.m. on the dot.

They loaded the couch, the coffee table, the bed, and the other pieces of furniture into the trailer, and put the boxes in the bed of the truck.

About an hour later, they were ready to set off. Lassiter got into his car and punched in the address of his new apartment in Sacramento into the GPS on his dashboard, and drove away. His friend followed him.

Thirty minutes into the journey, they passed the "You are now leaving Santa Barbara" sign. Lassiter felt his eyes tearing up, but he kept driving, not once looking back.

_Tomorrow_

_I'm gonna leave here_

_I'm gonna let you go and walk away_

_Like every day I said I would…_

**~·~****·~****·~****·~**

_**Well, that's it! I know it's really angsty and a bit fluffy in some parts, but I tried my best! And sorry for the pathetically short love scene. I've imagined plenty, but I've never actually written any before, so please please please cut me some slack on that one! I also apologize if anyone was slightly OOC!**_

_**I would loooooooooooooove some reviews! Thanks!**_


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